COUNTRY LIFE
WE were crossing the moor by car when we saw two horsemen coming down from the skyline. They were rounding up sheep, controlling their dogs and making a good job of the thing. Their mounts were sturdy little Welsh ponies, as sure-footed as any animal can be. When we returned, an hour or so later, the ponies were tethered to the fence and a large sheep-float was standing in the road while sheep, were being loaded. This quick handling of struggling animals that must be between fifty and seventy pounds in weight is a delight to witness. The economy of movement makes it look so simple, but I know it is not. A year or two ago the sheep broke through into my garden, and I had to get them out. One obstinate creature insisted on heading into part of the hedge that would not give way. I got a firm grip on its wool, but I could not swing it round, and was forced to wait until the intruder saw the folly of sticking its head into the privet, and turned of its own volition.
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